


A Different Time and Place

by AnicomicQueen



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family Feels, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Jaskier is Julian, Soft Geralt, What if Geralt had met Jaskier years earlier?, Young Jaskier, child!Jaskier, cuteness, papa Geralt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22595128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnicomicQueen/pseuds/AnicomicQueen
Summary: What if Geralt ad met Jaskier years before their meeting in Posada?AkaGeralt meets SEVEN* year old Julian Alfred Pankratz and his life as a monster hunter takes a turn towards the domestic as they work on finding the child's family. What's the learning curve of a witcher when they become the equivalent of a full-time babysitter?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 198





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ya'll....I am terrible and I'm not sorry. I cannot stop thinking about a child Jaskier and it is KILLING ME. I wanted to make him like five, but I didn't think a five year old could run away across a continent. So I'll save that sh** for another day. Jaskier is SEVEN* in this. Geralt is a kind person. I have no idea where I am going to go with this, but if you're willing to come with me, I'ma try to finish this...No promises.
> 
> *Age changed from original posting

Geralt trudged into a small inn on the outskirts of Kerack and asked the middle-aged woman giving orders behind the bar for a room. She finished scolding the short, teenage boy in front of her—most likely her son judging from the way she pulled his ear and pointed before sending him off on his way out the back door. She then turned to the witcher and briefly eyed him up and down, before eventually nodding and pulling a rung of keys from her pocket. She handed him a small, metal key, quickly rattled off pricing for meals and where the communal bath was located, took his coin, and strode back toward the kitchen. 

Geralt took no offense to the curtness she had employed before unabashedly shooing him away so she could get back to business, rather he was thankful for it. The way she dealt with him told him she didn’t care that he was a witcher. She only cared about his business and keeping her family afloat, and she didn’t have time to dilly dally with chatting up every traveler that came through her doors. He hated small talk, and he was lucky to not have to answer the same old questions. Why’s your hair white? What’s wrong with your eyes? What’s a brute like you doing this close to the city? It got old after a while and all he ever hoped for was to be left alone. 

All paid up, the witcher sought out the nearest empty corner, away from prying eyes and people so he could spend his evening meal in peace. Pushing past a rowdy table of drunken men, he slid into the booth with a heavy sigh and dropped his weapons into the seat next to him. He’d been traveling for well over a week, sleeping on the cold, hard ground, and he looked forward to finally sleeping in a bed and a home cooked meal. He signaled to the lovely young bar wench, letting her know he wanted a tankard and the house special. 

The small brunette was quick to oblige and brought a large stein and a bowl of steaming beef stew. Her amber eyes lingered on the two swords sitting next to him as she carefully set the bowl in front of him, entranced by a golden broach that seemed to be smiling right at her. She was eventually pulled from the minor staring contest when the witcher cleared his throat and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her causing her to blush at the realization that she was staring and very likely overstaying her welcome. “Oh...Um. Sorry,” she said as she ducked her head in embarrassment and quickly shuffled off to the other patrons, leaving him alone. 

Geralt took his time and savored the stew as he watched the other patrons dance and sing with the bard at the far end of the bar. When he’d finally slopped up the dregs of the stew with the dinner roll that had accompanied it, he downed the rest of his ale and grabbed his swords to head up to his room.

The room he’d been given was cramped and bare but for a small wooden table with a lit lantern in the middle, and a straw mattress with a woolen blanket and a small pillow at the head. Not the finest accommodations he’d stayed in up until now, but it was sufficient for his needs and it was far better than sleeping on the ground for the tenth or eleventh night in a row. Walking closer to the bed, he carefully leaned his swords against the wall within arms reach and doffed his leather armor, taking a moment to pile it in the farthest corner from the door. Once he was comfortably stripped down to his black undershirt shirt and trousers, he headed out to the stables to check on Roach. He passed by the boy from earlier on his way, stepping aside to let him dart past, before strolling easily into the barn and heading for the last stall on the left. He was about to call out to her, but then he noticed she wasn’t even turning to look at him. She was looking back over her shoulder at something.

He slowed his approach and was ready to move if need be. He didn’t know what was wrong, but it was clear that something was off. She always greeted him when he came out to spoil her and she always knew when he was in her vicinity. She was an extremely clever and attentive mare. She was either mad at him—which he supposed was possible, albeit unlikely since he hadn’t done anything to anger her recently—or she was purposefully minding something else. That’s what concerned him. 

As he got a little closer his ears perked up as he started to pick up soft whispers.

“...pretty girl. Do you like apples? I only have a half of one, but you can have it if you want. Do you want it?”

Roach bowed her head behind her and Geralt heard the tell tale crunch of her chomping into the core of an apple. 

The soft whispering voice from before stifled a giggle and said, “It’s good, right? I’m sorry I don’t have another one. I might be able to get another tomorrow, but I almost got caught today so we’ll have to see if opportunity knocks.”

Roach whinnied and swiped backwards again, eliciting another fit of giggles. 

“Silly lady! That’s my hair. And like I said, I don’t have any more apples for you. Weren’t you listening?”

Geralt carefully sidled up to the stall and peered into the darkness. The voice belonged to a child. A small, slender boy who couldn’t have been more than ten years old by the size of him. 

Of course it was then that Roach took notice of her witcher and she enthusiastically turned to greet him with a loud whinny and a few head bobs. Her actions drew the attention of her new friend to him as well, who gasped and quickly scrambled back into the corner of the stall with wide, terrified eyes.

Geralt moved to approach the child, but Roach stamped a foot, snorted, and pushed him back with her nose. He made a face at her and rolled his eyes. “Easy, Roach. I’m not going to hurt him,” he muttered as he put a hand on her muzzle to calm her down. “I just want to see who this new friend of yours is and what he’s done to earn your loyalty so quickly.”

Apparently that had been a sufficient response according to Roach because she bowed her head and sidestepped to give him access to her new human. 

Geralt slowly approached, but that just ended with the boy scrambling backwards into the opposite corner so the horse was between them again.

Geralt growled in annoyance. “Come here, will you.”

“I won’t fall for your word tricks,” the young boy said as he crawled on his hands and knees toward the entrance to the stall, all the while staying close to the wall and away from the angry man trying to trick him into getting captured. Once he was in the open, he pushed up from the ground and quickly made to sprint past the mare before the man could get a hand on him. 

Had Geralt been a normal man, he may well have succeeded. 

Instead, Geralt took two large strides and reached out, snagging the back of the boy’s collar, and he pulled him literally off his feet so the boy was hanging from his hand like a small, muddy kitten. “Who are you, boy?”

“I’ll never tell! Let go of me, you brute!” 

The boy flailed and kicked at the air between them, making Geralt hold him a little higher and farther away so he wouldn’t get kicked in his tender bits. “Hmm. You’re a feisty one. But you’re wasting your energy.” He smirked at the boy, almost impressed with the ferocity of his attempts to escape. 

And then the boy did something he wasn’t expecting. He grabbed onto Geralt’s wrist with both hands, swung himself back to gain some momentum, and nailed him in the chin with the toe of his shoe.

“Hah!” The boy cried out with a triumphant smile before his face scrunched into a pained wince. “Ooh. Mm. Ow, ow, ow. That hurt…”

“Serves you right, you little….” He paused when Roach neighed loudly and looked back over his shoulder at her. She was glaring at him with disapproval written all over her face and he once again rolled his eyes and turned back to the child. “Look. I’m not going to hurt you,” his voice rumbled in his chest as he gave the now teary-eyed boy a shake, “so stop trying to fight me. Now what exactly are you doing out here? And why were you harassing my horse?”

“I...I...” The boy trailed off and let his eyes wander over to Roach, looking for inspiration. “I-I’m an orphan.” A lie. “And I wasn’t _harassing_ her,” he defended, obviously a little offended. “She likes me.” He looked over to the chestnut mare and smirked. “Don’t you, my lady?”

“Hmm…” This boy had a strange vernacular for a forgotten child. None of the younglings he’d run into up until now had ever called anyone ‘ _my lady,_ ’ let alone extended that courtesy to a horse. 

He took a moment to eye the boy up and down. His clothes, while extremely dirty, were made from fine materials that only nobles could afford. He was either a good thief or these had been tailor made for his small frame. Not to mention his hair, while full of mud and matted with strands of straw poking out, looked like it had been trimmed fairly recently. Lastly, he was thin, but not emaciated, meaning he had been up until now well fed. 

It was unlikely that this boy was an orphan as he’d claimed, and if he was, he’d come upon that title fairly recently, but judging by the wear and tear in his shoes, Geralt guessed this boy was a runaway. He’d put a lot of mileage on those tiny, leather, ankle boots, and they screamed Cidarisian make with the gentle upward point at the toes.

“You’re a liar,” Geralt stated with the tiniest bit of amusement seeping into his voice. Then he sniffed and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You need a bath,” he grumbled and threw the boy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “You smell like horse shit.”

“Wha—? I do _not_!” The child screeched as he was lugged out of the stables.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is two tims as long as it was the first time I posted the chapter I had a crisis and purposely removed a lot of the stuff I thought wasn't really necessary for the story, but then I was like, "No! You know what? I'm gonna post all of it. At least ONE person might like reading it. And even if they don't what did I write it for if I'm not gonna use it?" I'm not writing a published novel so I don't have to delete the scenes that don't forward the plot. I get to write whatever the F*** I want dammit. 
> 
> I also changed Julian's age because he seemed younger than ten when I reread it for the nth time.
> 
> And so this is chapter 2. I hope you enjoy parts of it. (All of it preferably, but it may not be your cup of tea.) Oh! And big thanks to those of you who commented on chapter 1! I'm glad I wasn't the only one who thought of a child Jaskier!

“Let me down,” the boy said as he squirmed on the witcher’s shoulder.

“Quiet.” Geralt growled as strode back into the still bustling inn, pointedly ignored the owner’s questioning gaze. Instead giving her a look that said he didn’t have time or patience for questions. He dropped more coins on the counter and headed for the communal bathroom, dodging one or two drunkards on the way.

Luckily, there were no other patrons in the baths and kettles of fresh, hot water were sitting over the fires on the right side of the space. He strode over to a wooden bath in the back of the room and placed the boy down in front of him. 

“Stay,” he ordered, pointing to a stool that was next to the tub. 

The boy opened his mouth to protest, but one pointed look from the witcher was all it took for him to snap his mouth shut, and he sat down stiffly. His eyes remained on the man as he poured bucket after bucket of water into the tub. It was a strange sight to see the very muscular, very intimidating man from just a few minutes ago just quietly getting a bath ready for him. The boy’s brow furrowed slightly in consideration as he tried to work out what his white haired captor was all about. It seemed far fetched that he would take the time to get him cleaned up before killing him, especially because he’d already told him he wasn’t going to hurt him, but he didn’t know this man. Maybe he was just getting him cleaned up so he could sell him like a fish at market in the morning. He paled at the thought but he needed to know his fate so he cleared his throat and spoke up. “Um...You aren’t getting me ready to sell me, are you?”

“No,” Geralt said bluntly as he continued to fill the wooden tub.

That did nothing to assuage the boy’s fears. “Are you sure? Because it just seems strange that someone of your...size would take the time to fix a bath for me unless you had an ul-ulteer motive.” 

“Ulterior.” Geralt grunted the correction.

“Yes. That.” The boy felt a boost of confidence and he continued, “See cause, because I’ve been here for awhile and nobody else has given me so much as a passing glance.” He scuffed his foot on the ground in front of him. “Well, except for the shop keepers in the market. The farmer who sells the apples has given me _a lot_ of glances. He brings a reed with him now because he thinks he’ll be able to catch me if he gets in a good lick. But I’ve got older brothers so I’m really good at dodging now. I’ve had loads of practice.” He watched the man pour more cold buckets into the tub and grimaced. “Do I have to take a cold bath? Is this really just punishment for kicking you in your face? Because I’m really sorry and if it makes you feel better, my foot still hurts a little.”

Geralt stopped halfway through dumping another bucket of cold water into the tub and just turned to stare at the boy. By the gods, he had a mouth on him.

“By the way. If you aren’t going to kill me and you aren’t going to sell me, what _are_ you going to do with me? Keep me as your servant? Your page? Are you a knight? You don’t look like a knight...but you do look like you’ve killed something before. You have blood or well something that looks like it on your boots.”

Geralt looked down at his boots. It had been a while since he’d killed that kikimore, but sure enough there was still blood crusting on the toes of his boots. It would wear away eventually, so he usually didn’t take the time to clean his boots. This kid had sharp eyes to go with his jabber mouth. He tossed the bucket off to the side with a clatter. “Do you ever stop talking? And I’m not a knight. I’m a witcher.” The child gave no indication of surprise or fear. “You have no idea what that is, or who I am, do you?”

“N...well, no,” the child said, shrinking down in his seat a little. “But you don’t know who o-or what I am either so...”

“Fine. Who are you then?” he asked gruffly. He walked over to the large kettles and carried one back to the tub.

“Well. Um. I can’t tell you.” The boy looked around nervously, cupped a hand around his mouth, and whispered. “Do you know why?”

“No,” he said and tilted the kettle to pour the boiling water into the tub. He looked back at the boy over his shoulder and saw the child’s face fall slightly so he rolled his eyes and humored him. “Why?”

The boy perked back up and once again took a moment to look around again to make sure there were no other people around. “It’s because I’m a _wanted man_ ,” he hissed quietly.

“Hmm.” Geralt set the kettle down once the tub was three-quarters full and swirled the water around to test the temperature. “I highly doubt that.”

“I am!” The boy insisted. “Look!” He reached into the front pocket of his pants, pulled out a crumpled, folded piece of parchment and held it out to the man preparing his bath.

Geralt wiped his hand on his shirt and took it from the small hand and read:

**“MISSING**

**Julian Alfred Pankratz**

**Brown hair, blue eyes**

**7 years old**

**Last seen leaving his family**

**estate in the capital city of**

**Cidaris**

**Reward, if returned unharmed”**

Geralt smirked and looked up at the boy. “Well look at that. You are a wanted man after all. You must be ‘Julian Alfred Pankratz.’”

Julian gasped. "How’d you…" His face fell at the realization that he’d just given away his big secret. “That’s not fair. You cheated,” he said with a pout and he got up to snatch it back.

“You’re the one who handed it to me,” Geralt said, holding it out of the boy’s reach. “Looks like you're pretty far from home, Julian.” He was hoping to get some more information from the boy. Like how had one so young made it alive to Kerack all the way from Cidaris? And why was he in Kerack at all? His parents obviously wanted him back.

“Oh nonono!” The brunet crossed his arms and sat back down with a huff. “I’m no simpleton. You know who I am. So I’m not giving you any more information about me until I know who _you_ are, scary cheater man,” Julian said, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.

The witcher raised an eyebrow. This boy wasn't afraid of him, the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, in the slightest. He didn't know if that made the child brave or an idiot. Regardless, he figured he should at least give the boy the information he wanted. Maybe it would get him to shut up. “Hmm. Geralt.”

“Geralt what?” Julian pressed curiously.

Geralt thought about that for a second before responding. “Of Rivia.”

Julian made a face. “‘Of Rivia’ is an odd last name…” 

“It's not.” Geralt turned around, refilled the kettle, and put it back on the fireplace. “It’s where I’m from.” 

Julian tilted his head to the side. “But then what’s your last name? You know. Like your family name?”

“Don’t have one.” Geralt tested the temperature of the bath one last time. 

“Oh.” Juilan found that unbelievable, but he was willing to let it go for now. He didn't meet people of the world all that often. Maybe the missing last name was a regional thing. Maybe everyone there had strange looks like this man did. He was curious. “Sir Geralt, does everybody in Rivia have white hair like yours?”

“I’m not a knight. And no.”

“What about yellow eyes?”

“No.”

“What about—”

“No more questions. Now come over here,” Geralt said, cutting him off and pointing to the tub. Julian shuffled over to the tub awkwardly. “Here.” Geralt e dropped a bar of lavender soap in the boy’s hands. “I expect you to be finished by the time I get back.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out. 

Julian watched Geralt walk away until he disappeared around a corner and turned to look over the edge of the tub. He studied the amount of steam coming from the water and the first thing he thought was that maybe he was planning to cook him like a lobster. Not trusting the man’s ability to properly temperature a bath, Julian dragged the stool over, letting it scrape it across the stone floor, and he kneeled on top of it. He leaned over the edge to test the temperature and carefully lowered his hand to the water’s surface, swirling it around a bit. Satisfied that Geralt had done an adequate job making the bath warm but not scalding, he clambered off the stool, plopped down on the floor, and tugged off his muddy boots, pants, and jerkin. Once he’d dropped his dirty clothes on the ground beside him, he stood up and divested himself of his underclothes as well. Then he climbed on the stool again and dropped into the bath with a contented sigh. It’d been a while since he’d taken a warm bath like this and he was going to enjoy it.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Geralt stepped up to the counter and discreetly flagged down the owner. 

The woman nodded, slid a tankard of ale across the counter to another man, grabbed the end of her apron to wipe off her hands, and ambled over to him. “What can I do for ye, Witcher? This ‘bout that boy ye dragged in ‘ere?” 

“I need to know where I can find...”

She nodded in understanding and asked him to wait one moment while she slipped into the back rooms on the opposite side of the kitchen. A couple minutes later, she came back with an armful of clothing articles. “Here,” she said, passing them over the counter. “Ye aren’t gonna find none of them shops open this time o’ night. These were my Arnault’s when ‘e was yoonger. Gave ye some towels as well.” 

Geralt took the clothes from her and bundled them under his arm. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “The shops’ll open tomorr’ morn. But ye can keep those. Arnie ain’t gettin’ no smaller. I’ll have ‘im drop off some extra wool covers for ye.” She smiled sweetly at him, then whipped around angrily and stalked off to the other side of the bar and started pouring another flagon of ale. “Yeah, yeah, I hear ye, Vargus. Shut yer damn yap, ye old coot.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Geralt’s boots echoed on the stone floor as he reentered the bathing area. He was ready to get his new problem out of the bath so he could forget about this whole ordeal and figure out what to do with him in the morning. 

Only problem was, Julian had his back to him and was singing softly to himself, hair still completely muddy and gross.

“Hmm.” Geralt cleared his throat, making the child squeak and turn around to see who the intruder was. Geralt raised an eyebrow pointedly at him like he expected him to be at least halfway done by now.

“Uh...I can explain...” Julian eked out, having the decency to look a little guilty, and he ducked a little lower in the water so his mouth was just under the surface.

Geralt shook his head, walked over to the stool, and slumped down. He dropped the towels and shirt onto his lap, and snatched the soap from the boy’s hands with an irritated scowl. He patted the side of the tub and said, “Come here.” To his surprise, Julian was quick to oblige and sat still while he grabbed a bucket and a sponge. He dipped the bucket into the water and used a hand to tilt the boy’s head forward gently. “Head down.” He gave the boy a second to hold his breath and dumped the water over his head.

Tired and more than ready to finally get the opportunity to use the bed he purchased, Geralt quickly lathered the soap in his hands and none too gently combed his fingers through the muddy, strands of wet hair, doing his best to work out the tangled knots and pieces of stray hay. When he was positive that the mud was completely gone, he warned the boy to hold his breath again and dumped another couple of buckets of water over his head. 

“Good enough,” he said as he stood up and kicked the stool to the side and pulled Julian bodily from the tub and set him on the ground. “Here.” He handed the boy the towel and Arnault’s old clothes which the innkeeper had given to him and started working on emptying the tub.

Julian quickly dried himself off, pulled the oversized shirt on, and wrapped his arms around himself to stave off the now cold air while he waited for Geralt to finish putting the bucket and sponge away on the other side of the room.

Geralt came back and bent over to grab the discarded dirty clothes with a disgruntled huff. “Let’s go.”

“I’m cold,” the boy said quietly through chattering teeth as he stood in his bare feet.

“Then walk fast,” Geralt said and he nudged Julian toward the entrance and they made their way back to the room.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

When they got to the room, Geralt tossed the dirty clothes into the corner behind the door, grabbed the extra blankets, and started folding them into a makeshift bed.

“It’s cold in here,” Julian whined from where he stood by the door looking terribly exhausted. 

Geralt looked up from where he was kneeling. The boy looked tired and less full of energy and questions now. “Sit on the bed then.”

Julian padded over to the bed and clambered on top of it before pulling the wool blanket around himself so he could watch Geralt work. 

“Geralt?”

“Hmm.” Geralt grunted in reply as he finished making the floor bed.

Julian fidgeted where he was sitting under his blanket tent. “Are you gonna make me go back home?”

Geralt thought it over for a moment. He had no idea why a boy Julian’s age would be so inclined to run away in the first place, let alone determined and crafty enough to make it tens of miles south to a bordering country. He had a lot of questions for the kid, but now wasn’t the right time. “We’ll see,” he said instead of tackling the issue. “Come lie down. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay.” Julian whispered sullenly, and he slid off the bed and tucked himself into the warm woolen blankets as sleep quickly caught up with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if anyone has any requests, I'm like open to them. I think I kinda know what I want to eventually do with this fic, but I'm at a point where I'm like completely open to change my plans and whatnot. Also I am unbeta's so if there are any BLARING MISTAKES please let me know! 
> 
> Also all of my Witcher knowledge comes strictly from the show and the Wikis. I'm making most of it up as I go along....Very open to corrections on lore. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
